


Ghoul

by deadk_aneki



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Comfort, Gen, Ghoul Cannibalism (Tokyo Ghoul), Hurt, Kakuja, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, PTSD, Trauma, Violence, a lot of crying, angsty revelations about bad things, artificial half ghoul, look it just gets real sad okay !!, out of control kakuja
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadk_aneki/pseuds/deadk_aneki
Summary: Returning after three years of training and torture, she finds her mother dead and house destroyed. She also finds that her father is the billionaire superhero Tony Stark. With those she escaped from inching closer, she struggles to hide her nature, and control the beast inside her. (Also available on fanfiction . net )





	1. Prologue

The girl stood on shaking legs, breath coming in jagged outbursts interrupted by hiccuping sobs. Her house lay in ruins, half burnt and collapsed, half still burning. She could smell it, smell the stench of death heavy in her nose, mixed with her mothers perfume.

This is not what she had escaped to see.

The young brunette collapsed to her knees, a scream tearing from her lips and she curled in on herself. Salty tears made tracks down her dirt encrusted face, body tremblind as she screamed again.

She didn't know how long she stayed. She screamed until her voice ran out, until even intaking breath caused her throat pain.

She could smell the people approaching, she heard the car engines stop and the end of the lane and their footsteps running towards her. The fire had died by now, but the smell remained.

Hands ran soothingly down her back, and she was too exhausted to push them away. She simply stayed, staring unseeingly as she was lifted into into someones arms. She briefly registered them speaking, her unconscious logging the words.

"Christ, it's the daughter."

"She's been missing for three years, I thought they ruled her deceased."

"Come on, help me get her in the car. She looks like she's been to hell an' back."

Her mind focused for a brief few minutes, and she looked up at the police officer carrying her. Dark skin and black hair pulled into a bun with her hat resting above it. Kind eyes looked down to her, and the girl briefly recognised her. She didn't know where from, all she remembered now was the smell of flesh burning. Her head flopped to the side, looking out infront of her, looking at the police car she was being settled into.

Curling up, exhaustion tore at the young girls mind, and she was awake just long enough to hear the engine begin to rumble as the car sped away.


	2. First Meetings

Bronwyne looked down at her hands, listening carefully to the conversation in the next room.

The last month had been hectic to say the least. Police questioning had lasted for days, her story being picked apart until there was nothing else to scrutinise. Luckily, they weren't smart enough to detect her lies - mostly because it had taken the past three years for her to conjure them. So, given that they couldn't keep her with them since she hadn't committed any crimes - any that they knew of, at least - the police were forced to put her into Owain Care Home. Being around so many other people had been a challenge at first, especially since Bronwyne had spent so long in the company of few who were only there to train her. Being surrounded by humans who were compassionate was unusual, but Bronwyne was always good at adapting, and she had mastered pretending to eat a long time ago. None of the humans would think enough of her to even suspect that she was not human, and things had been easy. Well, easier than it had ever , it had been revealed that her father was the billionaire slash superhero Tony Stark. Having been in Japan for his rise to superhero stardom, Bronwyne only had snippets of what he had achieved. Having only met the man once, her opinion wasn't very strong, but he seemed like a good man.

Leaning back in her chair so it stood only on the back legs, Bronwyne tilted her head in thought. They were discussing her going to live with Tony, since she was only 15 and he had agreed to take custody of her with some unwillingness. It seemed that the foster home was eager to be rid of her, with their already stretched budget. Not that she minded, anywhere was better than where she was before.

Perking up as the door opened, Bronwyne watched Tony as he entered. He seemed slightly unsure, but smiled and sat opposite her. Flicking her gaze to the other adult in the room, the head careworker, Bronwyne tilted her head.

"We just finished all the paperwork for you moving to America." The woman smiled, shuffling the papers into a file. Looking back to Tony, Bronwyne looked at him carefully. That almost awkward smile was still on his face, but he certainly didn't seem shy.

"Isn't it a bit soon?" She asked, leaning her head on her hands.

"Well, we thought it would be best, since he is your biological father and all."

"Don't you want to come live with me?" Tony asked, unable to hide that he was at least a little offended.

"I don't mind. It would be nice, I guess." Bronwyne shrugged, scratching the back of her neck.

"Well then, let's go." Getting to his feet, Tony readjusted his shirt and held a hand out for Bronwyne to take.

* * *

  
Sat across from the girl on the plane, Tony studied her silently. She was strange, though that was to be expected. He didn't know the minute details of what had happened to her, but being held hostage for three years had to mess with your mind. Given that, she seemed quite well adjusted. She was quiet, and took a while to think of responses before she spoke, though that could just be because English was her second language.

"I told you about Pepper, right?"

"In passing. She runs the company you used to, right?" Looking up from the book he had given her, Bronwyne frowned in thought. She seemed to act a lot older than she was, Tony realised.

"She lives with me at the tower. We're the only ones who are there all the time, but the others come by often."

"By others, you mean the Avengers?"

"Yeah. They might seem a little daunting, but they're good people. No one will hurt you." He swore that he saw a glint of amusement in her eye at the mention of being hurt, but brushed it away quickly when it disappeared. "Do you want any food?"

"'M good. C'ai have a coffee?"

"Sure, I'll get you one. Try and sleep, you might have jetlag when we get there." Rising to his feet, Tony gave another awkward smile, before going over to the food cart.

It amused her how awkward he was, even if it was nearly undetectable. Tony wasn't a bad person, and she didn't dislike him, so living with him really didn't factor as important. Not that anything really did.

"Just black, please."

Bringing her knees to her chest, Bronwyne flicked to the next page in her book and smiled.


	3. A Flight

Bronwyne shifted, batting Tony's hand away as he shook her awake. Eyes opening slowly, she blinked for a few moments before focusing on him.

"Beth?" Voice thick with sleep, her face contorted in confusion as she struggled to remember where she was.

"We're landing in a minute, so you need to be ready to get to the car." Tony smiled for a moment, stepping away and moving towards his seat. "There might be some people there, they always sneak in. Just ignore them, okay? Don't answer any questions."

"Straightening up, Bronwyne rubbed her eyes and yawned.

"Eh?" She frowned, pushing to her feet as she stretched her arms. Finding her eyepatch tucked into her jacket pocket, Bronwyne placed it over her left eye. "Why would they be asking questions?" Pulling out one of her earphones, she put her phone in her pocket and turned the music down low.

"The media likes to know what I'm doing, but this isn't something I want to get out yet. We'll make an official announcement when you're settled in at the tower." Explaining the situation quickly, Tony looked back at her. "You need to sit back down, we're landing in a minute."

"I know." Smiling softly, Bronwyne yawned. "'M just goin' to the toilet." Moving down towards the cubicle, Bronwyne disappeared inside for a few minutes.

Returning to her seat, she watched as Tony buckled his seatbelt next to her. Clicking her own into place, Bronwyne faced forwards. Drifting with her thoughts, she jolted when Tony's hand fell onto her shoulder. Looking over to her father, Bronwyne was momentarily surprised at the comforting expression on his face.

"It's going to be okay." He sounded more confident that she was, but Bronwyne nodded her agreement anyway.

"Mm."

They remained in a somewhat comfortable silence as the plane descended, bronwyne returned her earphones to her ears, turning the music up, and skipping through songs without listening to any of them all the way through. The plane jolted as it landed, stirring her enough that she had unclipped her seatbelt and was on her feet before Tony. Looking down at him, Bronwyne hummed softly as she watched him stand.

He led her forwards to the nearest door, letting her watch as the stairs unfolded before them. Like he had said, there was an intimidating crowd of photographers and reporters barely contained by barriers and Tony's security team. Nudging Bronwyne to get her down the stairs, Tony took her hand reassuringly.

"Remember, don't say anything." Muttering the sentence into her ear one last time, the pair rushed towards the car. Bronwyne cowered away from the reporters, wincing at every move as they shouted questions.

"Mr Stark, who's the girl?"

""How old are you?"

"Mr Stark, where did you go?"

They merged together, the sound only muffled when Bronwyne had slid into the car and shut the door with a little too much force than was needed. Watching as Tony got in the front passenger side, she sighed in relief as the car began to drive away.

"You okay?" Turning back in his seat to look at her, Tony seemed genuinely concerned. "We've got a few hours drive, go back to sleep if you want."

"Mm." Leaning against the armrest, Bronwyne let her eyes drift close to the gentle hum of the car.

* * *

 

Gaze wandering around the lift, Bronwyne shifted on her feet. Adjusting the bag slung over her left shoulder, and her grip on the one by her feet, she took a breath. Tony didn't seem to be faring much better, bouncing on his feet in anticipation. The pair both snapped their eyes to the doors as they slid open.

Tony stepped forwards without hesitation, gesturing for Bronwyne to follow him into the room filled with the members of the Avengers team. Holding back for a moment, Bronwyne swallowed before she stepped into the room. A wobbly smile spread across her face, and she couldn't help the tears coming to her eyes. It had been so long since she had felt so welcomed, been in such a familial atmosphere.

"Prynhawn da." She whispered, wiping the tears from her face. "I'm Bronwyne."Tony placed his arm around her gently, moving her forwards to the centre of the room."Okay, introductions." He clapped, pointing to each person in turn. "That's Pepper. CEO of Stark Industries, permanent resident of the tower. Dr Bruce Banner, scientist, occasional green rage monster. Steve Rogers, Captain America, rebel. Natasha Romanoff, terrifying, spy. Clint Barton, spy, Katniss Everdeen wannabe. Thor Odinson, God Of Thunder, not here very often."

"Studying each in turn, Bronwyne smiled agai

"Hajimemashite."


	4. Morning

She was woken by the smell of burning, and for a moment her mind reverted back to the day she found her home. The shrieking of the fire alarm shook her out of the daze, and after inhaling again Bronwyne identified the burning substance as an unusual mix of food and plastic.

Pushing herself upright, the teen looked around the unfamiliar room. It was blank, painted a pleasing yellow colour but looking too much like a showroom for her liking. Still, it was better than a cell.

Racking her mind for the details of the night before, Bronwyne frowned. She had fallen asleep on the sofa, most likely, after hours of talking. It had been tense – incredibly so – but everyone seemed welcoming. Whether that was an act, Bronwyne was yet to decide.

"Good Morning, Miss Jones."

The robotic voice shocked her, body tensing up in preparation to fight if the need arose.

"I see Mr. Stark did not explain me in full. I am JARVIS, I manage the tower and will help you with whatever you need."

Remaining silent for a moment, Bronwyne stretched her arms forward as she thought.

"Ohayō, Jarvis." The teen hummed, sliding out of bed. She walked forwards slowly, unsure on her feet for reasons beyond her understanding – nerves, perhaps. Approaching the mirror, she examined her face.

Her cheeks weren't as hollow as before, her hair already beginning to thicken again, although its true white colour was already beginning to show through her poor dye job. She'd fix that at some point, or just let it grow out.

Her left eye held its kakugan property, the crimson pupil staring back at her in the mirror. She growled, covering the eye with her hand before grabbing the eyepatch on her dresser. Adjusting it slightly, she smoothed her hair down to not look too unruly.

"What's burning?" She asked, looking around the room to see if she could spot the source of the AI's voice.

"Mr Stark is attempting to cook you pancakes, but had melted the handle."

Bronwyne felt sick just thinking about the food, placing a hand on her stomach to stop it flipping. She could pretend to eat, but doing it all the time would surely take its toll.

"Is anyone else awake?"

"Miss Romanoff is out on a run, Mr. Barton is still asleep along with Dr Banner and Miss Potts. Captain Rogers is with your father. Shall I tell them that you are awake?"

"Īe, soreha daijōbudesu." Shaking her head, the teen slipped on the slippers that had been put by her bedside and shuffled towards the door. "Where's the kitchen?"

"Down the corridor and to your left, miss."

"Figured." The teen hummed, pushing open her door. Her tracking skills were above average – even for a ghoul – and she had figured the kitchen was somewhere in the area even without trying to pinpoint it.

Her hand rested on the door handle, arm poised to open it when she froze.

Flesh.

A rush of hunger, completely overtaking the teens mind. The world flashed red, her entire focus routed to the smell of flesh. It was sweet, making saliva drip from the corner of her mouth. Knees wobbling, Bronwyne fell into the door.

"Are you alright, miss?" The AI's voice held artificial concern, accurate enough to make it seem as though the software actively cared for the Ghouls wellbeing – a fact that she would most likely investigate at a later time.

"Fine." Voice as forceful as she dares make it, Bronwyne pushes herself back up from the support of the door, one hand rising to massage her temple as she attempted to push the thoughts of eating from her mind. She had yet to consider how she would feed herself in this city, though had presumed it would be much like Tokyo – easy to procure a corpse in a relatively nonviolent way and enough people that the addition of her hunting would not terribly affect the crime rates so long as she did not concentrate her hunting to one area. Not that she wanted to hunt anyway, wanted to remain as peaceful as possible even with the violence she had grown so accustomed to more than equipping her for hunting humans who had no defence against a creature such as herself.

Pushing down on the handle, the door swung outwards and Bronwyne staggered into the corridor. Regaining her footing, she nudges the door closed with her heel and continues down the corridor. She moves slowly, cautiously, not yet comfortable in the tower (although, she was not comfortable anywhere at this point), until finally she comes to the kitchen. The smell is stronger here, burning stench invading her nostrils and almost making her gag. But at the very least, it drew her focus away from her hunger.

Head peeks around the door, eyes flicking around the room out of habit more than conscious thought, automatically logging any possible hiding places, any threats that could be hiding. Fortunately, all her inspection discovered was the two men situated in the middle of the large room. Steve sat at the breakfast bar with a small book and a bowl of muesli, and Tony stood over the mess he had created on the stovetop. Both were yet to notice her, silent footsteps making her approach undetectable – though she wondered if JARVIS had notified them of her being awake even if she had instructed the AI not to.

She slides into a stool at the island, reaching towards the middle for the pot of coffee and pouring it into one of the mugs that sat on the counter top.

"I can smell that burning all the way in the bedroom."

Her voice breaks the silence, sudden noise shocking Tony enough that he drops the frying pan and sends it clattering to the floor. Steve chokes on his cereal, coughing the food down as a small drip of milk dribbles down his chin.

"When did you get here?"

The billionaires hand is pressed against his chest, looking down at Bronwyne with obvious shock painting his features.

"I sat down about 10 seconds ago. I thought JARVIS would have told you I was awake." Bringing the coffee to her lips, she ignores the look it gets her from Steve – obviously of the mind that children should not be drinking coffee and certainly not drinking it black.

"He didn't." Tony grumbles, reaching down to pick the pan up – pancake mix splattered across the tiled floor. "I was trying to make you breakfast, and I thought kids liked pancakes so I tried to make you some."

"I'm not hungry."

"Breakfast is important." Speaking up for the first time, Steve has his full attention to Bronwyne, looking at her expectantly.

"I – what?"

"Breakfast is important. You should eat it even if you aren't hungry, or you'll feel the consequences later in the day."

Mouth opens to reply, though no sound comes out – she has no retaliation for that, instead grumbling and taking another drink of her coffee.

* * *

 

As soon as Tony had introduced her to the full floor gym and training centre, her excitement had grown almost too much to contain. He had been showing her around the tower more thoroughly, not having had the chance the previous night. She had instantly rushed to the centre of the room, eyes tracing over every single thing in the room. A lot of the technology she did not recognise, being much more advanced than what she was accustomed to, but it was familiar. When in Japan, training had been one of the only things she had found joy in – had been able to use to gain some semblance of control. Honing her skills let her control what was happening to her a little easier, and had helped majorly when she had made her escape.

"You like it?"

It's clear that he's enjoying watching his daughter get so excited, glad that he was able to bring some joy to the girl who always seemed to be upset, though for a reason Tony was not privy to.

"It's great." Bronwyne nods, spinning on her heel to look back to her father, a smile pulling up one side of her mouth into a lopsided grin. She looked young now, younger than she had seemed to be in all the time they had known eachother – as if for a few moments there were no stresses on the girls mind. "There's just so much stuff! Like, I don't even know what half of it is but I love it. You've got robots, for fucks sake."

"I have a lot of robots, I didn't think you'd be this excited about them."

"Who doesn't like robots, they're so cool. I used to build tiny ones when I was younger." She's moved over to one of the training bots now, lifting up its arm to test the way the thing moved, twisting slightly.

"You used to build robots?" Brows raise, and slowly Tony approaches Bronwyne, watching her carefully. This was not something she had mentioned previously, and certainly something he was interested in.

"Only simple ones, I'd take stuff apart that we didn't use anymore. Best one I made turned the light off from the other side of the room by launching a nerf dart when you waved your hand over the sensor." She's almost absent, leaning in closer to the bot. The proximity trips a sensor, and suddenly the device is booting up, standing itself up. The shock of it makes Bronwyne stumble back, head tilting just slightly to the side. She's about to turn back and ask Tony about the robot when it moves forwards, metal fist almost hitting her square in the face if it were not for her moving away.

For a moment, she doesn't think about who was watching, about what repercussions her actions could have. Her only focus is the very sudden threat before her, and taking that threat out. She ducks down to avoid another strike from the bot, one arm coming up to stop the one dropping down from above. Hand grips the cool metal forearm of the robot, yanking it down so her foot can more easily make contact with its chestplate.

The body of the device flies away, crashing into the far wall and smashing, leaving the arm still clutched in the teens grip. She drops it after a moment, metal dropping to the floor breaking the silence before she turns, looking up at Tony.

"What the fuck was that?"


	5. Panic

Gaze falls down to her lap, hands sat just in the dip where her legs met her torso, fingers intertwining and pulling apart almost rhythmically, a routine to keep her mind from racing. Swallows, though the lump in her throat doesn't go away, doesn't ease the uncomfortable churning of anxiety in her stomach.

She had excused the impossible strength as a rush of adrenaline, a momentary panic that allowed her to do it. The adrenaline didn't excuse the perfect form of her attack, the instant analysis of the danger presented before her, didn't excuse how readily she had done it.

And yet, the excuse had been accepted. A curt not from Tony, discomfort clear on his face, the gears turning in his head as he too tries to explain away the event. He didn't want to entertain the fact that, perhaps, there was something abnormal about the girl – something potentially dangerous.

The tour of the tower had continued on after that, Bronwyne being shown all the floors that she would be able to roam in without supervision, Tony ghosting over areas that were perhaps too unsafe for a teenager to venture into alone – giving some brief explanation as to what went on inside but nothing more. And now, they sat together in the largest workshop, Bronwyne watching him tinker with some device she couldn't hope to understand.

She rises from the stool silently, taking the few steps that allowed her to better view the device her father was working on. Eyes narrow, trying to better grasp what he was doing to the hunk of metal in his hands.

"What is that, anyway?"

"Hm?"

"That," finger jabs towards the item, eyes glancing up to look at Tony's face for a moment before they move away. "In your hand. What is it?"

"A part for one of the Iron Legion droids. It's malfunctioning, took a hit a few weeks ago."

"Ah." Falls silent, bottom lip drawing in under her teeth as she watches him. It's oddly mesmerising, the way he just seemed to know what part to adjust, what to tweak. He stops after a further three minutes, turning the small ball around in his hand, smile pulling up one side of his mouth. "Fixed?"

"I think so." He nods, turning in his chair so he can stand away from the work desk, approaching the partially disassembled droid and placing the ball in a small cavity to the right side of the chest plate. A few more adjustments, and the bot is starting up. Bronwyne watches from her spot leaning against the desk, unable to help the grin that spreads across her face at the success.

"Subarashī!" The exclamation of impression is quiet, though no less genuine – honestly amazed with how easy the problem seemed to be for him. Eyes follow the robot as it stands, moving into it's ready position before Tony shuts it down.

Tony chuckles, amused at his daughter's reaction to the simple task – not annoyed by her not understanding, by her not knowing what he had done to fix it. Just pleased that he could bring a smile to her face for a moment. Despite their collective time spent together being no longer than at most a month, he can't deny feeling responsibility for the teen, feeling something that could one day be paternal love. He isn't quite there yet, still hasn't grasped that he was in fact a father, that one of his one-night-stands had produced life. Especially a life that had already seen so much tragedy. Perhaps it was the fact that he had lost his parents at a similar age that Bronwyne had lost her mother that made him so determined to take her in, to make sure that she was not alone.

"Do you want to go out?"

The question catches her off guard, such a sudden departure from their previous topic of conversation. "Do I what?"

"Do you want to go out? Shopping, mostly. You don't have any clothes, and you can't wear those jeans for another day."

Frowns, looking down at her jeans for a few moments. "Are you calling me dirty?"

"No, I'm saying I want to spend money on you. Come on, most teenage girls would kill for the chance at a shopping trip with a billionaire!" He laughs, walking forwards.

Bronwyne pauses, watching the man approach for a few moments before sighing. "Fine. Yes, I would like to go out."

* * *

 

She hadn't anticipated the crowd, hadn't anticipated the sheer number of people that would be swarming around the city. Hadn't anticipated the affect it would have on her hunger. Every brush against her body by a stranger another inch towards attack, another move towards losing control.

Pushes through a small crowd, staying as close to Tony as she could without pressing directly against him. She glances around again, doing so periodically so that she could be sure that there were no immediate threats. Her eyes fall to Happy, who Tony had commissioned as their security – though it seemed his main job was to carry their bags. An uncertain smile briefly flashes upon her face as their eyes connect, before Bronwyne turns her gaze forward once again.

"You doing okay?"

Tony has his eyes trained on the teenager, concern furrowing his brow. He had been unable to ignore her constant vigilance – even more present than it was when they were in the tower. It was if she were expecting an attack, waiting for one. He can't understand why someone so young would be so ready for violence, and isn't sure he wants to understand. Not right now, not when they were in such a public place.

"Fine."

Her response is forced, not as believable as she would have liked. Teeth clench and unclench slowly, long breath drawing in through her nose, and as much as she tries to relax she can't. Can't stop the shaking of her hands, the way her heart is hammering away in her chest, the way all the air seems to leave her lungs and refuse to return. It doesn't take her long to realise that she's panicking, mind working on overdrive to find an escape, someplace away from all these humans. Humans so easy to kill, soft flesh no challenge for the strength of her bite, warm blood rushing around their bodies, giving oxygen to such delicious, delicious flesh.

Her eyes fall upon the alleyway and within the same moment she is sprinting towards it, ignoring Tony's cries of her name, his pleas for her to stay next to him, that she would get lost. She trips over her feet as she finally exits the crowd, the buildings looming on either side blocking out a fair portion of the mid-afternoon light. The quietness is soothing, and yet still she is panicking. Hands fall to her thighs, body arcing forwards as she struggles to draw in air, breath becoming hyperventilative.

Tony seems to appear from nowhere, arms moving to wrap around Bronwynes small frame before she pushes him away – the contact nearly too much for her to handle.

"Whoa, it's alright. It's me." He crouches, trying to meet her eyes with his, an attempt to calm the girl down. He knows what's wrong – a panic attack – but doesn't know what set it off. Doesn't know what to do to help. He feels helpless, used to having most problems fixable by technology or money or a combination of the two. All he can do it repeat reassuring words as he waits for her to calm down, for her breathing to even out, for the hiccupping sobs to turn to silent tears.

"We good?" Voice is barely above a whisper, concern so clear in his features it may as well have been painted across his skin. He doesn't move to touch her again as she leans against the wall, as two fingers press against her neck to check her pulse, some self-regulation after nearly losing control.

"We're good." A brief nod, this reply closer to the truth than her previous one. She gasps a few times, as if trying to compensate for the breaths she had missed, before her hand moved from her neck to push through her hair. "Sorry. I don't know what happened. There – there were just so many people." A lie, so expertly hidden that it was impossible to tell. She knew why she had freaked, knew what had caused the weakness.

Hunger.

Still, it tore at her mind, an ache in the back of her skull begging for attention. It hadn't gone away since the morning, the craving for flesh only growing stronger as the hours had passed. She knew, she was at her limit. That if she didn't eat in the next few days then she would lose all control, and attack the first unfortunate person to cross her path. She wasn't willing to let it get that far.

"Do you want to go home?" He straightens as he asks the question, Tony still watching her carefully, in case she tried to run off again. He thinks they should go, knows the aftermath of a panic attack and knows that she should be exhausted right now – and she is, by the looks of it. But, asking would let her have some control over the situation, some independence that he knew she needed.

"I'm okay. We should get something to drink, though. Apparantly there's a really nice café here."

"There are dozens of really nice cafes in this city, Bron. We can get coffee." He won't deny that he's uneasy with the decision, that he would much rather be on their way home so she can rest, but he isn't going to argue. They exit the alley, Happy waiting at its entranceway to give the pair privacy and still be close enough in case anything happened, and they carried on down the street.

It takes a few minutes before Bronwyne spots a café she wants to go into, a small establishment dwarfed by the shops on either side. It's relatively empty inside, only one or two other customers occupying the space. They approach the counter to order, Bronwyne taking a moment to appreciate the variety of blends they offer, before choosing a table in the far corner. She draws her feet up onto the chair, taking a sip from her cup before resting it on her right knee, one hand used to balance the china. Eyes follow the various people milling around outside, such a harsh contrast to the relative peace inside the café, and finds her thoughts drifting.

"Why black?"

The question yanks her from the daydream, eyes peeling away to look at Tony as he drank his cappuccino.

"What do you mean?"

"I've never seen someone under the age of thirty order a black coffee and not put at least a little sugar in it. Why not get something like a latte, or a mocha? Something sweet."

"If the coffee is nice, why would you ruin it with milk and sugar. Just appreciate it for what it is. Bean water." Never mind the fact that if she added anything to the liquid then it would be undrinkable, the smallest splash of milk leaving throwing up for hours with a sickness to rival the most severe lactose intolerance. "Besides, I don't really like sweet things." She shrugs, taking another sip of her coffee, this time setting it down on the table. Shifting in her seat, the teen moves one leg under her body and lets the other fall to the floor. The silence stretches out, seeming to fill the room until finally Tony breaks it.

"Have you thought about school?" He watches her carefully, knowing that she hadn't been in formal education for several years, knowing that she could have missed out on important learning opportunities.

"I'm not going." Her response is almost instant, a force behind her words that hid her anxiety about the idea. Stuck in a building with so many people, so many humans, it seemed like an almost impossible task with how her control was waning. "I don't need to. I only have a few months left anyway, there isn't any point. It isn't going to make a difference."

She had missed out on a lot of her education in the regular manner, but had not allowed herself to become stupid. She had found books, whilst in Japan, and once she had mastered the language her hunger for knowledge had been satiated. Every time she could, Bronwyne would read, expanding her knowledge of the world and of the regular academic topics covered in school. Science had been her shining point, interested endlessly in biology, chemistry and physics. Most likely, she was at an equal level to those her age, if a little higher.

"It's important that you don't fall behind."

"How could I fall behind when I have you as a father?" It's a challenge, a direct jab at his intelligence to try and draw the topic of conversation away from herself and her education. "Why couldn't you just teach me the things I need to know?"

"I don't know everything. There's more to life than engineering."

"How much am I really going to suffer if I can't analyse Shakespeare?"

"Why are you so against this?" He won't deny that he's annoyed at this teenagers response, at her immediate rejection of the idea that he had assumed she would be pleased at.

"Because I don't want to be stuck in a building with hundreds of people for hours on end. I don't want to be trapped."

Undeniably, that was her main objection to the idea. Being trapped, stuck in a place against her will, unable to leave without consequence. The past three years of her life had been spent in captivity, forced to do things that previously she would have never even considered, trapped often within the same four walls. The feeling of being trapped was the main driving force behind her escape, behind her working so hard to get back to her home.

Tony doesn't have a response to her statement, mouth opening a few times to form a reply but no sound coming out. He sighs, leaning back in his chair and taking a long drink. It's something about her voice, the tone in which she explains her fears that he can't seem to object to. If it caused her so much turmoil, he didn't want to force her into it. Not yet.

"Okay, how about a private tutor?" It's a fair middle ground, he thinks, her getting an education without having to venture somewhere too unknown. More lax rules seemed to be the best way to approach it.

Bronwyne hums, head resting upon her hand as she thought, eyes once again following the people walking past.

"Yeah, I could go for that."

* * *

 

The wind was cold against her face, legs dangling off the edge of the tower, watching the rush of traffic below. Even in the early hours of the morning, the city was alive. Hand falls to the mask that hung around her neck, familiar feeling of synthetic leather underneath her fingertips, black accented with red in the shape of a dragon's snout. Fixing the mask above the lower half of her face, eyes slip close as her body tips forwards and suddenly she is falling through the air.

The kagune tears through her skin violently, two of the usual four limbs growing rapidly to hook onto the roof of the nearest building. She swings inwards, knees bending as her feet land on the concrete wall. Immediately, she begins to run across the side of the building, kagune acting to propel her forwards and keep her in the air.

It takes around half an hour to reach the outskirts of the city, where the buildings get smaller and houses further apart until eventually she is alone. The multiple bridges provide spots for people to end their lives, and Bronwyne is lucky enough to find a corpse at her first stop. She wastes no time in devouring the flesh, reaping everything she can. Hunger satiated for the time being, she begins the trek back to the tower.

Enters feet first into the bedroom, rolling as she lands and kagune dissipating away. Pushing to her feet, immediately she goes to the bathroom attached to her room, turning on the water and beginning to scrub away the blood coating a fair portion of her forearms.

"Would you like to inform your father of this outing?"

JARVIS' voice makes her jump, knocking the contents of her sink onto the floor. She sighs, hands gripping the edge of the sink, blood travelling down to mix with the running water.

"What do you think?" She snaps, looking over to the corner, even though there was nothing to show the voice emanated from there.

"I'll keep this between us, Miss Jones. Goodnight."


	6. Revelation

Bronwyne was, for lack of better description, strange. Which, coming from any member of the Avengers, was a difficult impression to make.

It had, in total, been four months since she had moved in, had taken permanent residence with Tony and Pepper. They had thought that her unease would have died down, that she would at least seem a little relaxed in such a fortified building. But, still she glanced around the room before entering, still she checked every hiding place she could see, still she turned with disquieting accuracy whenever someone entered the room.

It was Natasha who noticed it first, how the young girl seemed ready to defend in a moment's notice, ready for someone or something to leap out of the darkness and steal her away. The ex-assassin can't help but feel a familiarity towards the girl, the same darkness in her young eyes that the redhead so often glimpsed in herself.

None of them knew what happened to her in the three years she was missing. There were details, vague and not entirely helpful. She had been held hostage, had been hurt, and had escaped. Somehow. It was easy to see that it was not something the girl enjoyed thinking about, that it had traumatised her, changed her in a way that even if none had known her prior to the tragedy, they could tell that she was different.

She didn't eat, either. Bruce had noticed that, how she always seemed to have a coffee in her hands but had never seen the teenager eat. He had offered, on the occasions they both found themselves in the kitchen at 3am, to cook her something, but she had always politely declined and offered an excuse about not being hungry. He noticed how thin she seemed, also, how her rips poked through her skin, tendons on the back of her hand jumping out whenever her fingers moved. Her face wasn't as gaunt as it been when she first arrived, cheeks not so hollow, hair not so thin. She looked healthier, but by no means healthy.

When Ultron happened, she had shut down. For all the times she appeared ready to fight at the slightest noise, the moment a threat appeared she was frozen. No one could blame her though, so young, so inexperienced. Tony had sent her off to one of his houses with Pepper, and they had hidden for the week that the world seemed to end.

There were more people when Bronwyne returned to the tower, more that smelt like humans but just slightly off. Tampered with, changed. One that was not human at all, speaking like the AI she had grown familiar with, had become somewhat attached to. She wasn't a fan of the voices new embodiment, nor the off-human that accompanied its arrival. Especially not when she learnt that this woman – Wanda Maximoff was the name she had been told – could tamper with people's minds. She had been through enough mental damage, not eager to fight like that again.

But, the ghoul had done a good job of hiding. The agreement she had with JARVIS, to keep her night time excursions a secret, was easily remade with FRIDAY and Bronwyne continued.

* * *

 

Brownyne wasn't sure whether she liked Peter Parker. He was loud, and excited, and nosy. They had met several times, after she had moved upstate with Tony and Peter had shown up more often. They had encountered each other in their alter egos once, and she had run before he would be able to get a clear look of her, and she had steered clear of the area since. Tony liked him, she realised quickly enough, though perhaps didn't show that too well. She couldn't blame him – she was not the person to judge others on how they handled emotions.

So, when Spiderman himself was the face she opened her bedroom door to, Bronwyne tried not to frown. Her eyes glance over him quickly, doing her best to ignore the slightly inhuman scent he carried with him – a less noticeable effect of the spider bite, she assumed.

"Can I help?"

He shifts under her gaze, and she takes a moment to soften her face, put some emotion into her features instead of the usual expressionless mask.

"Uh, d'you know where Mr Stark is?"

Frown pulls her brows together, leaning against her doorframe, a sigh slips past her lips.

"Did no one tell you? He's in Cairo, or something. With Pepper."

The boy's face fell, and it was obvious that he wasn't informed of this. Worry seems to take over his expression soon after, muttering something about getting something fixed. Bronwyne pushes a hand through her hair, watching him for a few moments more, before deciding that she didn't want to deal with him any longer.

"Well, nice speaking to you. See you again soon, or something." Steps back, beginning to push the door closed when his hand stops it. She considers forcing it closed, knows she could overpower him in a heartbeat but also knows that it would rouse suspicion. It wasn't something she could risk. "What?"

"Do you wanna do something?"

"I was doing something."

"What were you doing?"

"Stuff."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Why do you care?"

Peter falters at that, not really having a response. He has no reason to care, really, they had no connection other than Tony. The first time they met, it had been his first time in the base, walking back to Happy's car after rejecting Tony's offer of joining the Avengers. She was sat on the roof, which he had later learnt was under the window of her room, and had watched him with startling attentiveness. Like she didn't trust him.

He had heard, briefly, who she was. Tony Starks daughter he didn't know he had, held hostage by criminals in Japan for three years and coming home to find out her mother had died. He felt bad for her, unable to stop comparing himself to her. She was close to Tony, even if she had only been with him for a few months. Most likely due to all the time they spent together, living in the same building.

"You seem interesting." He finally supplies, giving a nervous smile. She was two years older than he was, but around the same height – which wasn't too impressive given he was just above the average height for teenage girls.

"I'm really not." She doesn't want this, doesn't want someone knowing more about her than they need to. It's how she's survived amongst the Avengers this long, amongst the people who fight monsters like her every Tuesday afternoon. People didn't know more than they had to. She knows it makes her suspicious, knows that a few of them had caught on to something, but it was still better than them knowing what she was.

Knowing what she had done.

The silence stretches on for a while, and eventually, Bronwyne gives in to the pleading look the younger teen is giving her. "Fine, whatever. What do you wanna do?"

It seemed Peter didn't think he was going to get this far, didn't think that the other would actually agree to spend time with him despite his pleading. He considers for a moment, lips pursing just slightly in thought, before a smile breaks out on his face.

"We can do the stuff you were doing! I could help."

She hesitates, eyes watching him carefully for a moment, trying to detect any ulterior motives but finding none. It seemed he simply wanted to hang out. Stepping aside, she welcomes him into her room, muttering a brief apology for the mess.

There isn't really one, though. The room is nearly immaculate, practically empty. Nothing to show that someone was living there besides the scrawl of papers across the desk that was pushed against the far wall.

"Where's all your stuff?"

"Haven't unpacked yet." The lie falls easy from her lips as she returns to the desk, falling into the spinning chair and looking down at the items on the surface. They're sketches, mostly, monsters with sharp teeth and black eyes and blood dripping from their claws. There are some notes posted around, too, an odd mixture of three languages that left it undecipherable to all but her.

"You draw?"

"A little." She shrugs, adding a small amount of shading to the most recent of the sketches. It's a girl, on her knees with her face covered. Even with no colour, it's easy to tell the pool of liquid surrounding the girl was supposed to be blood. Peter frowns as he studies the images, his gaze slowly falling back to Bronwyne.

"Where do you get the ideas for these?" He keeps his voice soft, sensing that perhaps the answer was not something she wanted to give.

"I dream about them." Another lie, this one not coming so easy. She supposes that it wasn't really a lie – that she saw these images in her dreams, but only because they were burned so harshly into her memory that she couldn't dream of anything else. Hand has clenched around the pencil, a tenseness she hasn't noted, and the Ghoul tries to relax. "Like I said, I'm not very interesting."

"They're good. You can almost feel the urgency in them. Whatever is hurting the girl must really be a monster."

Her mask falters, and for a moment there is immeasurable sorrow present on the girls face, there just long enough for Peter to glimpse before the breach is sealed and she is once again composed.

"Yeah," Can't help the self-hatred that rolls in her stomach, bile rising up her throat as she remembers briefly the day this image came from. How the girl had cried, how she had silenced her with a single strike, leaving blood and brained splattered across concrete. "A real monster."

* * *

 

Body slams into the concrete wall, bones shattering under the force and Bronwyne falls onto the floor. Despite the darkness, she can see perfectly, can see the foot coming towards her face. She doesn't even bother to brace against it, knowing her nose is going to be broken anyway. The crunch is audible, but the pain doesn't come.

The pain never comes.

She doesn't fight back, can't find the energy, can't find the will. She's hopeless, unable to stop the fear that boiled in her stomach.

She had been found.

A part of her had become hopeful that she had escaped, that those who kept her captive for so long had realised who she was with and decided she was no longer worth the trouble. Those that had changed her so deeply would see how far she had come and give up. She kicks herself, for having hope. For thinking that she would ever be able to outrun her past, outrun who she was. The ghoul can only hope that Tony doesn't find out who she was after her death.

A familiar voice draws her from the spiral of her thoughts, a shout ripping through the night air that makes her tilt her head up just enough to see the bright red of the approaching Spiderman. She feels sick, knowing Peter would never be able to deal with her attackers, that they would kill him in seconds, wouldn't even think about it.

"RUN!"

The desperation in the scream stops the masked vigilante in his tracks, eyes widening as he sees who exactly it was he had been rushing to save. But, he listens, spins on the ball of his foot and runs. Shoots a web from his wrist, swinging himself up onto a rooftop where he can watch the fight continue – if the onesided kicking could be called a fight – as he desperately tries to call Tony. On a stroke of luck, he picks up.

"Tony," He's to panicked for the formalities he usually kept, and the tremor in his voice is enough to alert Tony, "You – you gotta get over here. Some-someone's attacked Bronwyne and I think they're gonna kill her. I – I tried to save her but she told me to run and she sounded so-soscared I couldn't just – just – "

"Hey, hey, underoos! Keep it together. I'm on the way. Make sure they don't go anywhere."

The shake in Tony's voice doesn't do much to calm the panicking Peter, his eyes still glued to the scene playing out below him. Bronwyne had attempted to stand a few times, and every time she did the men knocked her back. He realises that with the amount of hits shes taken that she should be dead, should be no more than a smear of blood on the floor. But there she is, standing, alive. She doesn't seem to react to the hits save for the ways her body moves with the force. Doesn't cry out, doesn't scream, doesn't show any inkling of pain. He can't help but feel that something is very wrong with the girl.

Tony arrives within minutes, and Peter swings down in time to land alongside the billionaire. He stays back as Tony charges, watching as he soars closer to what seemed to be the main attacker. It looked like he was going to hit, until another body slams into his side and he is sent hurtling into the wall.

It was a strength Tony wasn't familiar with, though not the strongest hit he had taken. The speed of it, though, how he had intercepted the Iron Man suit in flight was more impressive. He rights himself quickly, noting immediately that the attackers had stopped to stare at him.

It's the eyes he notices first, the crimson red floating in inky blackness. He recalls a file within SHIELD that had a similar description, recalls the warnings plastered across the document.

Immensely dangerous.

Do not approach.

He feels sick, that such monsters would dare to touch his daughter. Would dare to even consider causing her pain. A quick glance confirms that the teen was alive, that her eyes were trained solely on Tony, though not with the relief he had been expecting. There was fear, seeming to roll off her in waves. Fear for him.

"Otōsan," Her voice is soft, thick with tears, "Please, run." Hand reaches out to him, the broken bone shifting visibly under her skin as the limb stretched forwards.

Her attacker laughs, foot coming down on her hand and the bone crunches audibly. She doesn't scream, doesn't even seem to react, and Tony feels fear bloom inside him.

"Leave her alone." The suit makes his voice sound more confident, a confidence that didn't translate into himself. Usually cocksure and full of himself, Tony can't help the slight panic rising in the back of his head. There was no reason for it he could see – these people had no weapons, had no way to fight him, but still he was scared. It was instinctual, and for a moment Tony assumed this was what a gazelle felt just before being pounced on by a lion. He pushes through it, needing to save his daughter. "I said, leave her alone! She's a child, what could you possibly want with her? She hasn't done anything wrong!"

The statement draws a laugh from the mans lips, eyes crinkling up in the corners and blood covered hands coming up over his chest. He pushes one hand through his hair, greasy black locks moving to reveal even more of his face. His laughter stops when he realises that Tony was not, in fact, joking. That he believed the girl to be innocent.

"Oi, Kuroryu," Foot nudges Bronwynes arm, grin stretching out across his face, "Didn't tell your dear father about what happened?"

"What are you on about? Nothing happened."

"No? Well, she's a good liar. What she tell you, that she was held hostage? That she was a victim."

"Shut up." Bronwynes voice cuts off his final sentence, teeth grit as she spits the words out. "Shut up!"

"Did she tell you she was human?"

"What?" Can't help how small his voice was, how uncertain he felt. Not human? No, impossible. She had to be human, she was his daughter. And he was human, and her mother was human. So Bronwyne was human, just a normal girl. He turns to look at her, expecting to find her eyes meeting his, but instead finds her head bowed. Gaze doesn't lift to meet him, and he can't help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Oh, this is brilliant. I wanted to make you suffer by killing her, but you finding out your precious child is a monster? This is more than I could have wished for. Do you want to know what she's done? Want to know how many people she's killed? Want to know how much she likes it?"

Scream rips guttural from her lips, and suddenly Bronwyne is up, her body charging towards the man. He steps aside, sending the teen hurtling into one of his lackeys. They catch her, pushing her to the floor with enough force to crack her skull. It should have sent her down, knocked her out cold. But she barely falters, clambering to her feet once again to slam herself into him. Her movements are sluggish, hunger clouding her abilities, and once again she is thrown away.

But her mouth catches onto his shoulder as it moves past, teeth sinking into flesh and tearing it away as their bodies passed. It makes him scream, the skin tearing all the way up to his ear, blood already beginning to run down his torso.

She doesn't look at Tony before she attacks, doesn't even acknowledge him as her body moves with inhuman speed. In the next moment, two of the three men are dead. Their heads are in her hands, fingers gripping the hair tightly before she drops them. Shoulders heave, and it's obvious the movement is difficult, that she was barely in control.

She lets out a choked sound as a hand plunges into her abdomen, blood travelling up her throat and sent splattered onto the floor with a harsh cough. The attack activates her kakugan, left eye becoming identical to those she had just killed. The arm pulls out, and Bronwyne falls to her knees. She can't fight like this, not when she was so hungry. Not when she had been eating so little.

Eyes watch as the other Ghoul approaches her father, who seemed to be frozen in place. His head was turned towards her, and for a moment she was thankful that she couldn't see his face. Didn't think she could bare to see it.

"Let's see if you'll obey after I kill this one. You'll have no one left then. You won't have a choice."

It seems to shock Bronwyne out of her daze, and suddenly everything is red. She can't tell if its anger, or if the blood was finally dripping into her eyes. She doesn't think, doesn't even begin to consider the consequences of her actions when she moved.

Kagune practically explodes through her skin, the four limbs batting around wildly before she directs them to the attacker. They wrap around his limbs, and with one sharp pull the appendages are ripped off. His scream echoes in her ears, and she can't help the grin that spreads out on her face because of it. Bent knees launch her into the air, only for her to land crouched on the other Ghouls back. They're only a metre away from Tony, but Bronwyne doesn't even acknowledge him, doesn't even seem to notice he was there. Blood covered hand catches around the black hair, pulling the mans head up and slamming it into the concrete. She screams, the movements repeating with more and more speed, more and more urgency. It's as if that were the only movement she could make, as if the only thing she can think about.

He's dead, had been from the third hit, but still she didn't stop. Brains mingled with blood, running out across the pavement. Eventually, she stops. She can't tell if it's hours or minutes after she had started. All she knows is that she's tired, and sad, and hopelessly scared. Head tilts up, expecting to see the expressionless face of the Iron Man suit, an image she thinks she can deal with.

She doesn't expect to see her fathers face, to see the fear etched across his features as he took in the destruction she had caused. Legs push her up slowly, trembling as she straightened, and she stumbled forwards. Tony steps back as she approaches, hand coming out to shield Peter from her as she grew closer. The movement makes her slow, eyes falling to examine how ready her father seemed to attack. She falls to her knees, unable to stand any longer, feeling tears black like tar slide down from mismatched eyes.

"I'm sorry."


	7. Akaryu

She doesn't remember blacking out, can't recall anything past seeing the fear in Tony's eyes as she tried to approach him.

The Ghoul wakes violently, entire body jerking forward with such momentum that she is flung to the floor of the van they had locked her in. Rolls onto her back, rocking herself into a sitting position, before looking around. She can feel eyes on her, watching her from the corner. A glance over reveals them to be Steve, his eyes pulling away as soon as she makes eye contact.

It takes a moment for her to remember what had happened, for the fog to clear from her mind. Harsh laugh tumbles from her mouth, entire body trembling as the deranged sound grew louder.

_Oh, I'm fucked._

Leans against the seat, and eventually the laughter dies down, replaced with quiet tears – head angles away so her watcher would be unable to see.

"Where are you going to take me, then?"

Voice is quiet, shaking, much weaker than it was usually. She isn't sure what answer she expects, not sure if there were any answer she wanted to hear – none that she could think of would be good. Nothing about this situation could be considered  **good**.

"Back home. There are cells there, Stark's pretty sure they're strong enough to hold something like  _you_."

The poison in his tone is like a slap to the face, Bronwyne physically recoiling as he spoke.

"Something like  **me**?" Can't help the challenge in her voice, twisting around to stare at Steve. "What do you mean, something like me?"

"I know what a Ghoul is." The way he shifts under her gaze, Bronwyne can only assume that he's had personal experience with Ghouls. She can't help but feel a pang of guilt, knowing so many people had lost loved ones to Ghouls. Her empathy fades quickly, remembering all those she had lost just because they were Ghouls, because of what they had to do to survive. "I'm impressed you managed to hide what you are for this lo-"

Sentence cuts off as something slams into the side of the van, sending them swerving around for a few moments. Steve turns, sliding the small window that separated the cab from the trailer, speaking to the driver quickly. Another slam, this one leaving a dent in the heavy melting, tilting the car onto it's left side. Bronwyne and Steve hit the side at the same time, though Steve was the first to right himself. It takes a few moments for Bronwyne to clamber to her feet, vision blurring in and out as she stood.

There's a screeching, as the metal begins to warp, a deep slash forming. A glimpse of red is all it takes, and Bronwyne is pushing herself in front of Steve. The barrage comes seconds later, shards of kagune shooting through the gash, embedding into Bronwyne's flesh as she attempts to shield the supersoldier.

Coughs, blood travelling up her throat to be spat out onto cold metal, dripping slowly down the left side of her chin. The teen heaves in a breath, holding her arms out to maintain balance as her legs trembled. The kagune dissipates, and her wounds heal a few moments later – blood rich with RC cells moving like thread to knit muscle and skin back together.

"GET DOWN!"

Two subsequent thuds as the pair drop to the floor, another rush of kagune passing them overhead – denser, more shards and at a much faster speed. The attack dies away, almost immediately replaced with anothe against the side of the van, the same red of before tearing through the metal like it was paper.

"What the hell is going on?!" Crawling over to the doors, Steve kicks at them. Once, twice, and the two slabs fly from their hinges, allowing him to roll out of the vehicle. Bronwyne follows a few moments later, her stomach dropping as she realises that they had sent more than three to take her back.

"Should've known. Should've  **fucking**  known!" Kicks the van in her frustration, black clawing across the edges of her vision at the expenditure of energy she really didn't have. "Where's everyone else?"

"Tony is in the car behind, with Peter and Natasha. Everyone else stayed at the base." They remain crouched, just hidden from the eyeline of their attackers, though both could tell that the relative safety of their position wouldn't last long.

Eyes move to scan the road behind them, ears twitching at the roar of an engine. The black car crosses the horizon, rushing into her field of vision. Tony's driving is erratic, although that fact was understandable once you factored in that there was a Ghoul gripping the roof of his car, kagune repeatedly piercing through to try and attack the vehicles occupants. Bronwyne can see the brief flashes as Natasha attempts to shoot at the creature, and although her aim is incredible the bullets do nothing.

It's not until the kagune slices across Tony's face, cut opening on his cheek, that Bronwyne moves. The car, still speeding towards them, seems to be the only thing she can focus on. Starts running before her better judgement can tell her otherwise, picking up impossible speed in moments, a firm kick with her left leg launching her towards the Ghoul. Hands find his shoulders easily, and she knocks the larger man from above the vehicle. The pair roll, Bronwyne separating herself from them quickly, moving into a crouch to be better prepared for an attack.

"Watashi oi hottoite!"  **(**  Leave me alone!  **)**

She doesn't know why she's attempting to reason with them, doesn't know why she even expects them to listen at all. Briefly, she can see the group of Avengers running towards her, the other two Ghouls coming to back up their comrade.

"Ima, anata ga hontōni anata ga dasshutsu dekiru to wa omowanakatta nodesu ka?"  **(** Come on now, you didn't really think you could escape, did you?"  **)** The one she had flung from the roof practically spits the response, words just slightly muffled by the mask that covered half of his face – like the eyes of a tiger.

"Nat, you speak Japanese?" Steve mutters, hoping that it was one of the many languages that the ex-assassin was fluent in. Unfortunately, the redhead shakes her head, watching the exchange carefully. Going from looks alone, it would be near impossible for Bronwyne to win. She was at least a foot shorter than the three, and with not nearly as much visible muscle. It looked as if they would be able to crush her skull in their hands.

Yet, Natasha can't help but notice how wary their attackers seemed. They were aggressive, annoyingly so, but they didn't move to attack her outright. Almost as if they knew something about her that the Avengers didn't – and they did, obviously. They knew that she was ghoul, but that wasn't enough for them to be so cautious. As if they thought she could be stronger than them.

"Cap, what's our play?"

"Nothing."

The spy is taken aback, brows raising just slightly at the out-of-character response. "Nothing?"

"They're Ghouls. We don't have any weapons that could hurt them. Our strength might match up, but it's a slim chance. The only thing I think could work are Starks blasters."

Tony, for the most part, had been silent, eyes unmoving from the stand off between his daughter and the much bigger man. He wasn't sure what to feel – what he wanted himself to feel. His view of Bronwyne had been shattered so suddenly, so irrevocably destroyed after seeing her murder three people – three Ghouls. But, he can't help the worry sitting in the bottom of his stomach, the need to protect her – after all, she was still his daughter.

"You know much about these things, Rogers?"

Tony doesn't look over as he asks the question, flicking his wrist to activate the Iron Man suit – metal crawling up his arm from the wristband.

"HYDRA used them during the war. It depends what ranking they have, but they're nearly impossible to kill if you don't have the specialised weaponry." Steve gives as much information he can, reaching to pull his shield from the holder on his back. "But, I'm not sure what your repulsors are going to do."

"It's worth a shot." Natasha reasons, checking that her widows bites were operating at their highest capacity.

"I could wrap them." Peter, who had previously kept himself silent – unable to draw his eyes away from the conversation going on between Bronwyne and the stranger, interjects quickly. "I'll keep my distance, obviously, but if I get their feet it would be easier for you guys."

Nodding at the offer, Steve returns his attention to the Ghouls. No blows had been exchanged, yet, and it seemed as though they were simply talking. It would have looked calm, if Bronwyne wasn't shaking – fists clenched, knuckles white, as if she were barely keeping herself in control.

"Watashi wa anata ni modotte kimasen."  **(** I won't come back with you  **)**. Bronwyne snapped, tiring of how the men refused to listen to her. "Watashi wa mō sore o yarimasen."  **(**  I don't do that anymore.  **)**

"Anata ni wa sentakushi ga aru to omoimasu ka?"  **(** You think you have a choice?  **)**  Laughter, from all three, as if her statement was the funniest thing they had heard. "Anata wa omoshiroidesu, Kuroryu. Shikashi, anata wa bakadesu."  **(** You're funny, Kuroryu. But, you're an idiot.  **)**

 **"** Watashitachi wa anata o ikikaera seru yō ni iwa remashita. Shikashi, karera wa anata o kizutsukenai koto ni tsuite nani mo iwanakatta."  **(** They said we had to bring you back alive. Though, they didn't say anything about not hurting you.  **)**  A grin spreads across the Ghouls face, this one wearing a mask to imitate a leopard. His statement makes Bronwyne step back slightly, her position just that little bit more defensive.

"They're going to attack." Natasha notes, watching how they shifted on their feet.

It seemed they were going to, just moments away from moving, when Bronwyne laughed. Manic, high-pitched, a repetitive giggle. Her defensive position disappears, body tilting backward as the sound continues. And then, it stops. There's a silence, stretching out, as she raises one arm to point at the leader of her attackers.

" **Die**."

Moves too fast to see, in an instant her foot connects with the Ghouls chest, and he is sent hurtling through the air – only stopping when his body slams into a concrete wall. Immediately, she goes to attack again, spinning on the ball of her foot so her other heel collides with the skull of the Leopard. He crumples to the floor, skull smashed, blood and brains leaking from the destroyed skin and bone.

The Lion manages to grab her arms, holding them behind her back so she would be unable to move. Or, she would have been unable to move, had she not dislocated her own shoulders, flipping around so her knees struck between his shoulder blades. The attack loosens his grip, and she pulls the limbs back to their original position. They hang unnaturally loosely, bright purple bruises blooming across her shoulders.

By this point, the Tiger had gotten up, blood pouring from an open wound on his head. His strength was obviously the reason for him being the leader of the trio – neither of the others had yet to get up, and it seemed the Leopard would never get up again.

"You bitch!" Kagune grows from his shoulder blade, red limb hardening into something akin to a blade, and he charges the teen. He's slower than her, noticeably so, but still much faster than a human. She moves to jump out of the way of his attack, nearly successful, but the Lion grabs her once again, stopping her escape. The kagune slices through flesh just above her knees, both limbs sliced clean away.

Even with such an attack, she doesn't show any recognition of pain, despite the blood pouring from the stumps that were previously her legs. Body falls to the floor with a thud, and she uses her arms to move herself away from the two that now towered above her. They grin, seeming to think that they had won, that they had subdued her.

Her own kagune manifests, four limbs bursting violently from the middle of her spine. Two wrap around what was left of her legs, moving to mimic the limbs as best as possible. It happens so naturally, it was obvious that this was an injury she had occurred before. Pushes herself up, delivering a strike with the kagune. Limb cuts through the Lions head cleanly, his body falling to the floor as the top of his head separates from his jaw.

And, once again, it was her and the Tiger. He attacks first, swinging his kagune repeatedly – each strike avoided by the teen. Movements were different to before, the crazed attacks she had used previously gone. There was a control in her movements that only came with years of training, years of experience, years of fighting for your life.

One of his attacks connect, this time chopping away her left arm. Once again, one of her kagune moves to replace it. The same happens again with her right, all four kagune being used as her usual limbs. Again, the Tiger seems to think he had won – surely, she would not be able to fight like this.

He delivers another attack, this one to her abdomen, body lifted into the air as the limb pierces her stomach. A cough brings blood up her throat, sprayed onto her attackers face.

She laughs again, the noise almost like a scream, before speaking.

" _ **Idio**_ ** _t_**."

Voice is different, as if two people were speaking at once. One low, guttural, the other high pitched, sounding almost artificial. Red bubbles at the base of her spine, just above where her kagune pierced the sing. The kakuja moves aggressively, black crawling across her skin, snaking up her throat and covering her mouth like some kind of twisted dragons snout. Four more limbs, thinner and wider than those previous, stretch out in something akin to a dragons wing, the reason for her name – Akaryu.

Jerks forward, teeth catching on the flesh of her attackers face, a twist of her neck ripping it away before he even has a chance to scream. The attack doesn't kill him, the ghoul is left clawing at what was left of his face until the four kakuja pierce his body, one going straight through his heart, and he falls.

Bronwyne falls with him, arms stretching out to keep their bodies together, mouth opening once again to crush down on his shoulder. As soon as the blood had touched her tongue, hunger had overridden all else, and all she could think was to feed. Movements become more and more erratic, hands digging into skin to pull chunks of flesh away from the corpse and stuff them into her mouth, only bothering to chew once or twice before swallowing. Blood runs down her front, coating her arms up the elbow. She doesn't acknowledge those watching her, barely even noticing them until Tony steps forward, his movement catching her attention.

Head snaps up, mismatched eyes staring unseeingly, a snarl drawing up the corners of her mouth (which are barely visible under her kakuja mask).

" **Get away.** " Again, that dual-toned voice slips from between blood soaked lips, grip tightening on what was left of the mangled corpse at her knees.

"Bron . . " Tony swallows, doing his best to not look at the body, to push down the sick travelling up his throat. "Please, stop. You – you're injured. You've gotta get help." He steps forward again, the movement prompting Bronwyne to raise onto her toes.

"Tony, careful. She's not seeing right." Steve's voice comes in quietly, his eyes trained on the girl, waiting for her to move.

"Come on, Bron. Stop it, please." He ignores the warning from Steve, taking yet another step forwards. This time, Bronwyne moved, bloodied hands catching onto the metal shoulders of the Iron Man suit, forcing Tony to the floor. Blood mixed with saliva drip down from her mouth onto Tony's face as she leered over him.

" **Stupid.** "

She moves down, mouth opening to take a bite out of Tony, no regard for who he was. Her body is forced away as the Shield slams into her side, forcing her to roll away. Spits up some more blood, pushing herself up quickly. She remains low to the floor, knees bent and hands hanging limp between them.

"I think we're gonna need a Hulk." Natasha comments, blue electricity sparking across the widows bites on her wrists. The idea earns a nod from Steve, a hand reaching up to the communicator in his ear.

"Dr. Banner?" A pause, as the scientist responds, "We need the Hulk. Quickly."

Silence stretches out, a standoff between the four Avengers and the Ghoul. There's no recognition in her eyes for the people before her, the people she had spent the past months of her life living with.

"Snap out of it, Bronwyne." Natasha tries her hand at calming the girl, voice calm and commanding. However, she can't deny that she's a little apprehensive, facing off against a Ghoul with a kakuja – her run ins with Ghouls in the past had always resulted in injury. She had never fought one that possessed a kakuja, none that seemed so well trained. For once, she was unsure if it was a fight she would be able to win outright. "You're being ridiculous."

" **Damare!** "  **(** Shut up!  **)** The teen growls, kakuja twitching and clawing at the ground, itching to move and pierce through the chests of all her attackers. " **Damare, damare, damare!** "  **(** Shut up, shut up, shut up!  **)** she shifts her weight forwards, readying herself to pounce again, when a roar rips through the air. It draws her attention easily, the mass of green muscle hurtling towards her.

Shifts onto her toes – red and claw like – arms crossing above her head just in time for the hulks fist to slam down on them. The blow forces her back, grooves carved into concrete as she is pushed back. Eventually, she retaliates, pushing back against the fist and forcing Hulk away. She keeps her body low, rolling to avoid another strike with his fist. She grabs onto the oversized limb, using the momentum to swing herself up onto the Hulks shoulders. Kakuja embeds itself into green hued flesh, earning a roar from the hulk as organs are pierced and ruptured. Her mouth comes down on any flesh she can find, ripping away as much flesh as she can before she is shaken off.

Body tumbles through the air, slamming into the concrete floor and rolling. She can feel her bones break, shattering underneath her skin. There's no pain to accompany it, her mind automatically blocking the feeling out, shutting her reaction down. She pushes the limbs forwards again, pushing them through the Hulks chest and outwards, slicing through flesh and bone before jumping to wrap her legs around his neck. She twists, using her kakuja to push the Hulk down onto his spine. Each of the limbs pierce the Hulks hands and feet, working to keep him pinned for a few moments so she can once again rip flesh away with her mouth – this time taking from his chest.

Once again, it doesn't take long for the Hulk to shake her off, this time his hand moving to grab her abdomen and slam her into the floor. Vertebrate shatter, blood sputtering up her throat and leaking out her throat. She wheezes, vision tunnelling as the energy from using her kakuja catches up to her all at once. She claws at Hulks fist, kakaja scratching across any skin it can find, legs kicking wildly.

The grip around her abdomen refuses to loosen, and her arms trapped to her side do nothing to shield her from the fist coming towards her face. The blow reverberates in her skull, red covering her vision as blood spills into her eyes. The blow shakes her senses, ears ringing. The second blow makes her black out for a few moments, skull cracking against the concrete.

The clawing of her kakuja slows, the cells that made up the limbs weakening and falling away until the entirety crumbles away into nothingness. Her eyes manage to find Tony, mouth hanging open as blood sits in the back of her throat, gurgling as she tries to speak.

" **Help.** "


	8. Talking

The pain was all encompassing.

 

It felt like every cell in her body was burning, like she was being turned inside out, like her very being was being crushed under some impossible weight. She couldn't escape it, the force pushing down slowly, suffocating her until any scream she tried to make ended up choked and silent. Hands search desperately for something to grasp in the darkness, in the black that surrounded her. Every sense dulled with the pain, hands scraping across something she can't feel, eyes staring at something she can't see, heavy breaths falling silently on her own ears.

 

Briefly, she wonders if this will be what kills her – if finally, she had done enough damage to her body that she would be unable to come back. She knows the injuries are healed, though. That her skin and muscle and bone has knitted itself back together into its original formation. But still, this impossible pain was there, all her injuries coming to haunt her at once.

 

Slowly, the weight lifted, a small relief, the blackness covering her senses ebbing away. It's replaced with a blinding light, the softness of a mattress underneath her skin, the ringing of her own screams in her ears. She rolls, falling onto the floor, pushing onto her hands and feet.

 

She throws up without enough time to brace herself for it, the bile from her stomach tinged red, and her throat burns from the sensation. The pain is receding now, eyes focusing on her hands splayed out across the now dirtied floor, the red skin and not-quite-human shape they held. Clenches her eyes shut for a moment, opening them again in hopes that the limbs appearance' was just something she was imagining. The red continues to stand out against the almost too-bright white below them, and she swears.

 

It takes a few moments for her to notice the cuffs around her wrists, and the strange energy that seemed to hold them together. Moving to sit on her knees, an attempt to pull her hands apart sends a sharp jolt through her arms, a tingling spreading across her skin. Stomach sinks, a panic setting in almost immediately, and she screams.

 

"Dashite!" ( Let me out! ) Panic fills her tone, and before she can remember that she was not once again in Japan, was not once again held by Aogiri, it overwhelms her. "Onegaishimasu! Watashi wa anata ga hoshī mono wa nani demo yarimasu, watashi o hanashite kudasai!" ( Please! I'll do whatever you want, just let me out! )

 

Pushes to her feet, swaying as her vision blurs, immediately going faint. She rights herself, still struggling to pull her arms apart – the pain steadily building in her limbs goes ignored in her fervour. Knees buckle, the teen collapsing to the floor. She spits, blood travelling up her throat again before she attempts to right herself. Head swims, and she barely gets to her feet before she falls once again.

 

"Kuso." ( Fuck )

 

Eyes clench shut, forehead pressing to the cool floor, and a deep inhale works to calm the young Ghoul considerably.

 

"Please don't kill me." The fear in her voice is thick, palpable, impossible to ignore. She can feel the blood dried to her skin, the burn in the back of her eye telling her that her kakugan was active. "I'll be good, I promise. I won't eat anymore, I don't want to, I'll starve, I'm sorry." Words are rushed in her panic, trying desperately to quell the hate everyone surely held for her.

 

How could they not? She was a monster, she was evil, should just die already and get out of everyone's way, should just disappear and stop causing so much trouble.

 

"Please." Isn't sure who she's talking to – she can't tell if there's anyone on the other side of the one-way glass, can't tell where she is – how long had she been unconscious? How long had she spent struggling, spent screaming? Time distorts even as the Ghoul tries to make sense of it, the sick feeling in her stomach only increasing. "Please don't kill me."

 

Eventually, she curls up in the corner of the cell, eyes drifting closed until she would force herself to open them again. Resigns herself to listening to the sound of her own breathing, absently picking at the blood that had dried on her skin, trying in vain to restore some humanity to her features.

 

The hunger returns, giving the teen some sense of how long she had been trapped – the small amount of the Ghoul she had eaten would have only satisfied her for a few conscious hours. It begins as a dull ache in the pit of her stomach, an incessant whining in the back of her mind. It was manageable, for now, and at the very least gave her something to focus on.

 

Until the focus grew to an obsession, and the hunger is all she can think about – even pushing her panic about being found out away from her mind, replaced by the need to eat. It isn't the worst hunger she had faced – though being hungry was never a pleasant experience – but it was enough. Wraps her hands around her ankles to ground herself, rocking back and for just slighlty, the movement now used to distract her from the burning in her stomach.

 

Barely notices the click of a speaker turning on, or the voice that begins to speak through it, only pauses in her movements when they shout.

 

"Please don't kill me."

 

Immediately she returns to begging, moving from her corner to the glass impossibly fast, hands splayed against the cool glass, tears once again pricking the corners of her eyes.

 

"Please, please, I'll be good. Please don't kill me."

 

She can't imagine any other alternative. Once humans found out you were a Ghoul, they tried to kill you. It was what happened, how it always worked. It was why she had tried so hard to appear human, to fool them into thinking she was normal for so long.

 

"Get away from the glass."

 

It's a voice she recognises. Male, stern, cold. Steve.

 

"Steve – Steve – Steve, please don't kill me." Scrambles away from the glass, moving back until her spine presses against the wall. "Please, I – I'll be good, I pro-"

 

"Just shut up!"

 

Falls silent in the hate in his voice, mouth closing quickly, and she immediately draws in on herself.

 

He hates you.

 

He hates you, he thinks you're a monster.

 

He's going to kill you, because you're evil.

 

You're going to die.

 

"I can't believe you tricked us all." The supersoldier begins, and even though Bronwyne can't see his face, she can imagine how angry he looks. She swallows. "I never thought a Ghoul could be so good at pretending, but here you are. How did you manage to get everyone to think you were Bronwyne? Fake some documents, wait a few years. Do you not even feel bad about killing her? About killing her mother?"

 

He takes a breath.

 

"Why'd you do it? Wanted to have a taste of Stark? Of all of us? See how we taste, break us apart from the inside? I can't believe I've been living with a Ghoul for so long. How many people have you killed, right under our noses? How many people have you ripped away from their families just because you felt like it? And now, you're asking me not to kill you? You're a hypocrite."

 

She can't breathe. Eyes clench shut, fingers tangling in her hair as she curls her knees to her chest.

 

They thought she was a liar.

 

"I – I'm not lying, please. Please, believe me, Steve. I – I'm not – not a liar, I p – promise!" Can barely get the words out through ragged breaths, tears falling freely down her cheeks. "I – I am Bronwyne, I swear. It's me, it's always been me! I – I never wanted to hurt any of you. Please, please, you – you have to be – believe me!"

 

"Stop lying, you're not going to get your way out of this. I know what Ghouls are like, you'll do anything to find your next meal. I'm just surprised that you managed to hold back this long. I suppose you wanted us to care about you before you killed us. You're disgusting."

 

"Steve – Steve, please! Please, please believe me, you have to believe me-" Falls silent as the speaker clicks off, and she knows that Steve is gone, that he won't listen to her. Can't push away the sick feeling in her stomach, the pit that had opened up inside her.

 

Pushes herself into the corner once again, knees drawn to her chest and arms clasped around them. She hides her head, letting the fabric of her shirt soak up the tears.

 

* * *

The hunger grows.

 

It's the only thing she can measure time on, and even then, she had no idea how accurate it was. It could have been hours, or days – she couldn't tell. After Steve, no one had come to speak to her. She doesn't blame them, can only imagine how much they must hate her.

 

She doesn't know what she expects them to do. They hadn't killed her yet, but perhaps they planned to let her starve to death. She isn't sure if a Ghoul has ever died that way (keeping a Ghoul from eating when they were hungry was nigh on impossible) but she assumes that it was something that could happen. She thinks that perhaps she prefers it, then to have one of them kill her.

 

Tony drifts across her mind frequently, every time she allows herself to think of him the hole in her stomach opens a little wider, and she cries just a little more. She doesn't know if she's slept since waking up in the cell, though the fatigue she was fighting off did a good job of telling her that she should have rested at least a little.

 

It's when her eyes take longer to open that she notices that it's getting harder to breathe.

 

The panic wakes her from the half-sleep, the teen staggering to her feet – ignoring the tingling in her legs as a protest to their disuse. She sucks in a breath, but it does nothing to help the tightening in her throat. Black spots dance across her vision, and it's only when she focuses that she can hear the faint hiss of a gas being pumped into the room.

 

The scent is familiar, sickeningly so, and the Ghoul quickly realises that they're dosing her with CRC. Immediately, she assumes that this is how they intent to kill her, though the thought ebbs away as she realises that if that were the case, they would have used a higher dose – that she wouldn't even be standing right now.

 

Her legs refuse to support her, and she falls to the floor. Can feel her body weakening, feel the CRC wearing her down, and eventually lets her eyes drift closed. It was easier not to fight.

 

* * *

Her body aches.

 

It's a familiar feeling, the hangover that always followed CRC doses almost comforting in its sameness. The feeling never changed, the temporary allodynia the chemical brought on, the pounding at the base of her skull. It's enough for her to be momentarily distracted from the hunger in her stomach.

 

This room is different, the teen realises after several moments of having her eyes open. It looked very similar to the previous room, but in place of a bed there was a table, and instead of her body being free to move, her wrists and ankles were bound to the chair they had placed her in.

 

Just about manages to lift her head as the door swings open, eyes squinting in an attempt to get her vision to focus. She recognises the red hair of Natasha, feels a wave of nausea roll around in her stomach at the sight of the assassin.

 

Can't find it in her to beg for her life again, isn't even sure if she would even be able to form any words at this point. Resigns herself to watching the redhead sit, dead-eyed.

 

"Who are you?"

 

Such a simple question shouldn't be so troubling. She knew who she was – Bronwyne. But, there was who she had been, who she had been forced into being, who she probably still was.

 

"Br - " Voice comes out weak and quiet, the words scraping across her throat so harshly she has to pause. "I'm Bronwyne."

 

"How?" Brow raises, but besides that, there's nothing shown in Natashas expression or body language to convey what she thought of the answer. "Tony and your mother were humans, and you're a Ghoul. Ghouls are born, not made."

 

Can't help the way her body tenses at the mention of her mother, at the idea of her beginnings as a Ghoul. She swallows, using the saliva to wet her throat just a little, hoping it would make it easier to talk.

 

"Akihiro Kanou." There's nothing but hate in her voice when she spits the name out, venom thick in her tone. When Natasha doesn't speak again, she takes it as a prompt to continue her explanation. "He – he was a surgeon. Ex-coronor, for the CCG. I was – was unfortunate enough to meet up to his standards for a test subject."

 

Takes a breath, an attempt to still the tremble set deep in her bones.

 

"Ghoulification surgery, a kakuhou transplant. I was the final successful half-Ghoul hybrid created using the Binge Eater kakuhou."

 

"So, you were made into a Ghoul? When?"

 

"We were in Japan for a surgery, ironically. I – I was really sick when I was younger, and there was this hospital in Japan doing a trial on a surgery to see if it improved symptoms for whatever I had. I don't remember. He just – just took me straight from the hospital." Pauses, she can feel herself getting emotional, can feel the anger rising in her throat and makes a concentrated attempt to push it back. "I was put under in the hospital, and I woke up in the dark. I'm still not really sure how long I was in there – there was nothing to tell the time with, and I wasn't getting hungry, so I assumed it was only an hour or so. But – but the hunger came so fast I couldn't think of anything else. It took over, everything I did was to try and get something to eat. And then they pushed in this guy, he was obviously drunk and scared and defenseless and – and I just – I just attacked him."

 

"You killed him?"

 

Nods, not trusting her mouth to betray her. Can feel tears pricking at the corner of her eyes, head falling to avoid Natasha's gaze.

 

"What happened after that? You were gone for three years, what did you do?"

 

"They trained me." Swallows, before continuing. "There – there was a group, in Japan. Aogiri, pro-Ghoul. I worked for them, or for whoever paid enough. Or I trained. They found out that repetitive injury would increase my ability to heal injuries, so every month I was put in a room and – and they just hacked pieces of me away. Fingers, toes, eyes, skin. Took whatever they wanted, left me to regenerate, and did it again. I – I can still – still feel it." Flexes her hands, as if trying to rid them of some invisible pressure.

 

A heavy silence follows her explanation, before it is broken by the sound of Natasha's hair scraping across the floor and the door swinging open. She doesn't bother to look up to see her leave, not even when she doesn't hear the door close, or when footsteps carry across the cold floor.

 

It's the sensation of arms wrapping around her that makes the Ghoul look up, the familiar scent of Tony drifting to her nose as the man pulls her towards him. A weight lifts from her shoulders, face burying in her father's shoulder, and the Ghoul allows herself to cry. The sobs are violent, making her entire body shake, loud and grating.

 

"Please don't kill me."

 

Plea is small, only loud enough for Tony himself to hear, and he pulls away. Mismatched eyes stare down at him, tears tinged black and leaking down her face. There's nothing but fear in the way her words form, in the quivering of her lower lip as she stares at her father.

 

"I would never."


End file.
